This Brunette Would Die If She Didn't Work!

The film 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes' raised a great stir in cinema circles. Here is its author, Anita Loos, telling us in her easy, flowing way how she began writing for the stars of the silent screen.

I feel alive only when I am working. I began work at the age of six, as a child actress — that, of course, was a long time ago! I thought then, and still think, that all work, whatever its kind, is a challenge to every barrier and difficulty that stands in a person's way, and I always feel triumph and pride at reaching excellence and success. I retired from work once, and it was the most miserable time of my life. I had gathered a large fortune from writing stories for the cinema, and I decided to rest and travel. I lived a life of ease and plenty between Paris, Palm Beach, and California; but this life soon turned monotonous and dull, because when one does not work, one sees all around one a crowd of idle do-nothings!... Fortunately the stock market crashed and I lost my fortune and was forced to go back to work — and I shall not stop as long as I live!!

I was happy and lucky in working with capable, gifted people. The first story I wrote for the cinema was played by the famous actress Mary Pickford together with Lionel Barrymore, under the direction of the celebrated director David Wark Griffith. I wrote all of Douglas Fairbanks's films in the first two years of my career, and I worked with 'Irving Thalberg' for eight years — he was, in truth, a great genius. The first thing I wrote for him was 'The Red-Headed Woman,' with 'Jean Harlow' in the leading female role; it was the first comedy she played in, and after it she became a famous actress. Some time later I wrote the play 'Happy Birthday' for 'Helen Hayes,' and it was a great success; and recently I wrote the musical play 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes,' which was the starting point of 'Carol Channing's' future on the screen. And with the play 'Gigi,' which I took from the French writer Colette, I introduced Audrey Hepburn. It is truly exciting to have a hand in bringing out rising players. Some time afterward I went to see Audrey in 'Ondine,' and she was superb; Alfred Lunt, who directs the play, said to me: 'This girl could play "Lady Macbeth" tomorrow if she wanted to' — and she was only twenty-three years old.

And now I had better go back to the beginning and tell you about myself. I was born into a family half of whom were theater people and the other half newspaper people. My father owned a newspaper and headed a small theatrical troupe in San Francisco, and when the famous New York companies came out here to perform, they brought with them — transport being difficult — only the important actors, and took the secondary players, grown-ups and children alike, from among us; and my share was always the part of the little actress. I began writing at the age of ten, for the 'New York Morning Telegraph,' which was the paper theater lovers turned to; I wrote two short, witty sentences and was paid ten cents a word, and after that I came to publish a column on the front page entitled 'Review of the Town,' and I went on that way for twenty years, writing about New York without ever seeing it. The first story of mine to be printed appeared in the magazine 'Woman's Home Companion,' when I was fourteen. But two years before that I had already written stories for the silent films, among them 'The New York Hat.' I was paid twenty-five dollars for it, Mary Pickford and Lionel Barrymore played in it, and it is shown to this day at the Museum of Modern Art in New York. I went on acting

until I was fourteen, and after that I gave all my time to writing for the director 'Griffith.' When Douglas Fairbanks came to California, our manager, 'John Emerson,' wanted to find him a film to play in, and picked out a piece I had written, saying: 'I shall put this young actor into it.' The director Griffith answered him: This piece cannot be filmed, for its comic points are too hard to grasp in silent acting — people will not put up with going to the cinema in order to read the titles!! But the manager insisted on going on with the piece, and half of it was in titles. When the director Griffith saw it, he said mockingly: 'What is this farce? Put it on the shelf!' And so it was. Some months later, the Roxy cinema in New York had booked a film, but it did not arrive on time; the owners despaired, and at last decided to take my piece down off the shelf, and the management put it on with apologies to the audience, informing them that when the promised film arrived my piece would be cut off. But no sooner had half of it been shown than the whole house rang with laughter and merriment, and it proved a great success. The next day the critics said: 'The cinema has come out of its age — biting, witty criticism has reached the screen.' I wrote hundreds and hundreds of films after that and earned a great deal of money; I took five thousand dollars for each story, and I never spent more than three days writing one. The play that won me wide fame is 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.' I wrote it as a joke, because I was once traveling by train to California with a young woman named Lorelei — who became the heroine of the piece — and all the way we exchanged talk,

and I took many of her ideas and wrote a long chapter for amusement and fun and sent it to her gentleman friend in New York. As it happened, he was a journalist, and he proposed that it be published in some magazine — and so it was. Now the words 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes' have entered the Oxford dictionary of quotations, and I fancy, too, that they have been added to the popular legends of America. I shall not forget that I am a brunette, small of body — my height is 149 centimeters — and every article of clothing must be made to my own measure, which is one of the annoying things, but of no great weight; what matters to me now is my work. And now I beg your pardon: I must get back to writing my new play, called 'Cock-a-Doodle Daisy,' with 'Charlie MacArthur,' with Helen Hayes to act in it. Remember, dear reader, that if you do not work, you die — 'that is my motto.' Envy no one because he is rich, for riches do no good. I tried it once, and that was the end of it.